It was a strange triumph, and yet it was one. Miss Hewitt closely followed her niece, once more wrapt in a new extravagance of crape; and these ladies had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Osborne quietly take her place opposite to them on the front seat of the carriage. This gave both to Patty and her aunt an acute sensation of pleasure, which would have been greater, however, had the victim seemed in any way conscious of it. But Margaret was full of many thoughts, recollections, and anticipations. She, too, looked forward to the disclosure of her uncle’s will with a curiosity and anxiety which had nothing to do with any expectations of her own. She had put away the two sovereigns so tremulously extracted from his purse by the dying man with a half smile and a tear. That, she concluded, was all that Osy would ever have from his great-uncle, who might so easily have made a provision for the boy. She had never expected it, she said to herself, but that was a different thing from this certainty that it never would be; still there was a tender familiarity about the “tip” for the child which went to Margaret’s heart. Poor old uncle! If he had been left to himself, if he had been able to think, he would have acted differently. She put away the two pieces of money for Osy without any grudge, with a tender thought of the old man who had been as good as a father to her all her life. And now was this the end of Greyshott so far as she was concerned? or was there a strange something looming out of the clouds, another life of which she would not think, which she could not understand, to which she did not consent? She put all thought out of her mind of anything that concerned herself, or tried her best to do so—but the family was dear to her still. Was there any plot threatening the name, the race, the old, old dwelling of the Pierceys? There was a subdued triumph in Patty’s look, a confidence in her voice and step, and the authoritative orders she gave, which did not look like a woman who after to-day would have no real authority in Sir Francis Pierce’s house. She could not imagine what it could mean; but the advent of the elder woman, also in crape, and full of ostentatious sympathy and regret, strengthened all her apprehensions, though she did not know of what she was afraid.

One or two of the oldest friends remained for the reading of the will. It was felt on all sides that the grief which attended Sir Giles to his tomb was of a modified kind. No one except Mrs. Osborne could be supposed to regard the old gentleman with filial love or sorrow, and the party which assembled round the luncheon table was serious, but put on no affectation of woe. Patty took her place at the head of the table with a quiet assurance to which nobody objected. She had too much sense to talk of “dear papa” before all these people, and if she showed the composure of an authorised and permanent mistress of the house, it was probably because she had been accustomed to do so. Lord Hartmore, if his sympathies were not so much aroused as on the day of Gervase’s funeral, still retained a sort of partisan feeling for the young widow. She was his protÉgÉe. His wife had not fallen in with his views, except in the most moderate way, merely to honour the promise he had made for her. Lady Hartmore did not attempt to improve her acquaintance with Patty. She was quite at her ease at the other end of the table by the side of Colonel Piercey, who now was de facto, in her assured belief, the master of the house. Margaret was not present at the luncheon, and Miss Hewitt, who was elated beyond expression by finding herself seated among all the great people, on the other side of Lord Hartmore, felt herself the principal person at table, and demeaned herself accordingly. “To think,” she said, “my lord, that I should find myself ’ere on such an occasion; me that once thought to be the mistress; but oh! the ideas of the young is different from what comes to pass in life. ’Im as we have laid in his grave, dear gentleman, was once—— Well, Patty, love, as you say, this ain’t a time to talk of such things. Still, it do come upon me sitting at ’is table, and ’im not ’ere to bid me welcome. But it’s a mournful satisfaction to see the last of ’im all the same.”

“Aunt was an old friend of my dear father-in-law,” Patty explained, curtly. “I believe, Lord Hartmore, that you know more of Margaret Osborne than I do. Margaret Osborne has not shown very much sympathy to me, and all this winter I have never been able to get out for such a purpose as making calls. I couldn’t have taken a three hours’ drive to be away so long, not if it had been a matter of life and death. That means almost a whole day, and dear Sir Giles never liked to let me out of his sight.”

“Ah, ’e always knew them that were really fond of ’im,” said Miss Hewitt. “You couldn’t blind ’im, my lord, with pretences. I was kep’ back by my family, and thoughts of what the world might say; but ’e knew that Patty was the same stuff like, and ’e took to her the double of what ’e would have done on that account. Oh, your lordship, what a man ’e was! You’re too young to remember ’im at ’is best: ’andsome is as ’andsome does, folk say—but a gentleman like ’im can’t always act as ’e would like to. You must know that from yourself, my lord. Sometimes the ’eart don’t go where the ’and ’as to be given.”

“Well, that is certainly sometimes the case,” said Lord Hartmore, with a subdued laugh, “though I don’t think I know it by myself.”

“Aunt’s so full of her old times,” cried Patty. “If there was anything that was ever wanted for the little Osborne boy, Lord Hartmore, I should always be pleased to help. He got too much for my dear father-in-law latterly, being noisy, and such a spoiled little thing; but he was fond of him, and spoke of him at the very last.” “I can never forget that,” said Patty, putting her handkerchief lightly to her eyes. “And if there should be need of a little help for his education, or setting him out in life—but I should have a delicacy in saying so to Margaret Osborne, unless you’d be so good as to do it for me.”

“Oh, you’re very kind, Mrs. Piercey,” said Lord Hartmore, confused. “Our dear Meg is rather a formidable person to approach with such a proposal.”

“Yes, isn’t she formidable?” cried Patty, eagerly. “That’s just the word; one is frightened to offer to do her a good turn.”

“Let us hope,” said Lord Hartmore, “that her good uncle has left her beyond the need of help.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Patty, with a very serious face.

“I feel sure of it,” said Lord Hartmore, with genial confidence. “He was far too good a man, and too kind an uncle. Mrs. Piercey, I see my friend Gerald looking this way, and Mr. Pownceby wriggling in his chair, as if——” He made a slight movement as if to rise—which perhaps was not the highest breeding in Lord Hartmore; but it was very slight and accompanied by a look of deference, suggesting a signal on her part.

“Mr. Gerald Piercey is not master here, nor is Mr. Pownceby,” said Patty, with dignity. “They may look as they please, but in my own house it’s my part to say when people are to leave the table.”

“She do have a spirit, Patty does,” Miss Hewitt murmured under her breath.

Lord Hartmore settled himself in his chair again, abashed. “I beg your pardon,” he said; and then, in a subdued tone, “Most likely Pownceby has a train to catch.”

“In that case I don’t mind stretching a point,” said the lady of the house, “though Mr. Pownceby is no more than a hired servant paid for his time, and it is no business of his to interfere.”

A hired servant! Old Pownceby, who had all the secrets of the county in his hands, and most of its business! Lord Hartmore grew pale with awe at this daring speech. He looked straight before him, not to see the signals of his wife telegraphing to him from Gerald Piercey’s side. “I’ll have nothing to do with it,” he said to himself; and, indeed, in his consternation, Lord Hartmore was the last to get up when the movement of the chairs convinced him that Mrs. Piercey had condescended to move. He offered that lady his arm humbly, on an indication from her that this was expected. “I suppose we shall see Mrs. Osborne in the library?” he said.

“Oh, Margaret! I suppose she’d better be there for form’s sake, though I don’t suppose it matters much. Aunt, will you tell Margaret Osborne to come directly, please? I have never,” said Patty, with a smile, “got into the way of calling her Meg, as you all do.”

Lord Hartmore could scarcely dissimulate the little start of consternation with which he heard this. The forlorn young widow, for whom he had been so sorry, was appearing in a new light; but, of course, it was only her ignorance, he said to himself. The party had all assembled in the library when the voice of Miss Hewitt was heard outside calling to some one who seemed to be following: “This way, Margaret—this way. They’re all in the library. I don’t know the ’ouse so well as I might, but this is the way. Come along please, quick, and don’t keep the company waiting,” Miss Hewitt said.

Gerald Piercey started forward to open the door, for which Miss Hewitt rewarded him with an “Oh! thank you, but I’m quite at ’ome, quite at ’ome.” Margaret came in in the wake of that bustling figure, pale, and with an air of suspense. “Was it necessary to send for me in that way?” she said to Gerald. He had placed a chair for her beside Lady Hartmore. “Oh, Heaven knows what is necessary!” said that lady. “You know the proverb about beggars on horseback.” She was not so careful to subdue her voice as she might have been, but in the commotion it was not observed. Gerald Piercey stood with his hand on the back of his cousin’s chair. They were the family, the only persons present of the Piercey blood. The old friends of the house stood near them. At the upper end of the room were Patty and her aunt. Mr. Pownceby stood in front of the large fireplace with a paper in his hand.

“I must explain,” he said, “how the will I have to read is so very succinct a document. Sir Giles had made his will like other men, and as there was a good deal to leave, there were a number of bequests. The late Mr. Gervase Piercey was, of course, the heir, under trustees, as he was not much—acquainted with business. Sir Giles thought fit to change this, as was to be expected, after his son’s death. He sent for me hastily one day, and gave me instructions which surprised me. I begged him to allow me to take these back with me in order that the new will should be properly written out, proposing to come back next day to execute it, and, in short, hoping that he might reconsider the matter; but he would hear of no delay. This document I will now read.”

Gerald Piercey stood quite undisturbed, with his hand on the back of Margaret’s chair. He was not anxious. It had not occurred to him that the house of his fathers could be alienated from him, and short of that, his poor old uncle’s wishes would, he sincerely felt, be sacred whatever they were. He was glad to hear that there was a new will made, which, no doubt, provided for Mrs. Piercey; and waited with an easy mind to hear what it was. As for Margaret, the event about to happen began to dawn clearly upon her. She saw it in Patty’s eyes, in her pose, sitting up defiant in Lady Piercey’s chair. She looked up at her cousin with an eager desire to warn him, to support him, but was daunted by the calm of his look, fearing no evil. “Gerald, Gerald,” she said, instinctively. The lines of his face melted suddenly; he looked down upon her with an encouraging, protecting smile, and took her hand for a moment, saying “Meg!” and no more. He thought she was appealing to him for his care and protection in face of a probable disappointment to herself.

Mr. Pownceby cleared his throat and waved his hand. He ran over the exordium, name, and formula, of sound mind, etc., etc., to which everybody listened impatiently, “do give and bequeath the whole of my estates, property, real and personal, etc., to——” here he paused a little, as if his own throat were dry—“Patience Piercey, my daughter-in-law, and companion for the last six months, to be at her entire disposal as it may be best for the interests of the family, and in remainder to her child. This I do, believing it to be best for meeting all difficulties, and in view of any contingency that might arise.

“Signed, Giles Piercey,” added the lawyer, “and dated Greyshott, 16th June, just a fortnight ago.”

There was a pause. Even now it did not seem to have struck Colonel Piercey what it meant. He listened with a half smile. “And——?” he said, waiting as if for more.

“That is all, Colonel Piercey, every word. The house, estates, money, everything. Even the servants are cut out. He said she’d look after them. Mrs. Piercey takes everything—house, lands, money, plate, everything. It is a very unusual and surprising will, but that is all.”

And then there was another pause, and a general deep-drawn breath.

“It is a very surprising will indeed,” said Lord Hartmore.

It was a sort of remark to himself, forced from him by the astonishment of the moment; but in the silence of the room it sounded as if addressed like an oration to all who were there.

“Pardon me,” cried Colonel Piercey, “but Greyshott? Do you mean that Greyshott, the original home of the family——?”

“I represented that to Sir Giles, but he would hear nothing. It is Mrs. Piercey’s with all the rest.”

“It is the most iniquitous thing I ever heard,” cried Lady Hartmore, rising quickly to her feet. “What! not a word of anybody belonging to him, nothing of Meg and her boy, nothing of his natural heirs, nothing of old Dunning even, and the old servants?—The man must have been mad.”

Here Patty rose and advanced to the conflict. She was very nervous, but collected. “Mr. Pownceby can bear me witness that I knew nothing about it,” she said. “I wasn’t there.”

“No, you were not there,” said the lawyer.

“I thought it right I should have a provision,” said Patty, “and so it was right; and if my dear father-in-law thought that the one that stood by him, and nursed him through all his illness, when everybody else forsook him, was the one that ought to have it, who’s got anything to say against that? I didn’t want it; but now that I’ve got it, I’ll stick to it,” cried Patty defiantly, confronting Lady Hartmore, who had been the only one to speak.

“I have no doubt of it,” cried that lady, “but if I were Colonel Piercey, I shouldn’t stand it; no, not for a moment! Why, the old man was in his dotage, no more equal to making a will than—— than his son would have been.”

“Mary!” cried her husband in dismay.

“Well!” said Lady Hartmore, suddenly brought to herself by the consciousness of having said more than she ought to have said, “I am glad, I am quite glad, Hartmore, for one thing, that you’ll now see things in their proper light.”

“And a very just will, too,” cried Miss Hewitt, coming to her niece’s side,—“just like ’im, as was a very right-thinking man. Patty was an angel to ’im, that she was, night and day. And it is nothing but what was to be expected, that ’e should give ’er all as ’e had to give. And not too much, neither, to the only one as nursed ’im, and did for ’im, and gave up everything. Oh! I always said it—’e was a right-thinking man.”

Colonel Piercey said nothing after that exclamation of “Greyshott!” but he retired with the lawyer into a corner as soon as the spell of consternation was broken by the sudden sound of these passionate voices. He had seized Margaret by the arm and drawn her with him. “We are the representatives of the family,” he said, hurriedly; and Mrs. Osborne was too much startled (though she had foreseen it), too sympathetic, and too much excited, to object to the manner in which he had drawn her hand within his arm. “Our interests are the same,” he said, briefly, with a hurried nod to Mr. Pownceby; and they stood talking for some minutes, while a wonderful interchange of artillery went on behind. This was concluded by a sudden clear sound of Patty’s voice in the air, ringing with passion and mastery. “I believe,” she said, “Lord Hartmore’s carriage is at the door.” And then there arose a laugh of sharp anger from the other side. “We are turned out,” cried Lady Hartmore, “turned out of Greyshott, where we were familiar before that chit was born.” It was a little like scolding, but it was the voice of nature all the same.

“And I think,” said Colonel Piercey, “Meg, that you and I had better go, too.”

“Oh, as you please!” cried Patty; “Meg can stay if she likes, and I’ve already said I shouldn’t mind giving any reasonable help to educate the little boy. And as for you, Gerald Piercey, you can do what you like, and I can see you are bursting with envy. You can’t touch me!”